Dreaming Before Dawn
by Cerulean Pen
Summary: If she had to die, at least he had the next best thing…her journal. Willa/Philby. 65th story.


_**Still Too Early To Dream**_

_**Summary: If she had to die, at least he had the next best thing…her journal. Willa/Philby. 65th**__** story.**_

_**English Romance/Angst Rated: T Chapters:1 Words: Willa & Philby**_

_**Pairings: **__Willa/Philby, a lot of angst, and some romance; sad at the beginning, happier at the ending._

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Kingdom Keepers, although I wish I did._

_He doesn't know what to do. He's never felt like this, because it's not normal to feel like you're splintering into a thousand pieces, like the silk threads holding you together are ripping, like your soul is a paper thing that has just been shredded. His parents don't come to his locked door, as he paces his bedroom, going from ripping photographs to shreds, to typing up e-mails he doesn't send, to sitting in the silence, wondering why. _

_A few days later, he comes out, starved, exhausted, and only two steps away from falling to jagged pieces all over the floor._

_0o0_

_The next day, Monday, Philby misses school for the second time in his life, because the first time is too painful to remember, and sits in bed, pawing through photo albums, ripping pictures to shreds. He doesn't throw the pieces away; he slides them into a shoebox marked "What's Left" and stores it under his bed. Maybe someday, when he can breathe steadily, Philby will reopen the box to tape the pictures back together._

_Around three o'clock, Finn shows up, with his brown hair too long, his blue T-shirt the same one he wore three days ago, but he doesn't care enough. Philby sits on his pillows, while Finn rests in the desk chair, looking at his hands, like words of comfort are written there. Philby wants to sneer at him, yell, tell him that even though he's the leader, it doesn't mean he knows everything, knows the pain. But he never moves; he's afraid that if he stands up too fast, he'll shatter like the mirror she hated._

_"Amanda found this," Finn finally says after forty-five minutes of pure silence, slipping something into Philby's hands, before racing from the bedroom, apparently breaking under the weight of heavy silence. When his eyes move downwards, viewing the cover, Philby has to slide it into the shoebox, and proceeds to pull the feathers from his pillow, one by one._

_That night, Philby sits on the roof, staring at the stars, and he wonders if she can see him grieving, and if she misses him, and if she will talk to him._

_0o0_

_His parents make him go to school the next day, but he doesn't pay attention in class, because he thinks about the first time he skipped school, which was also the best day of his life. People look at him weird, whisper as he walks down the hallway, but Philby is numb, he tunes them out all too easily. Teachers try to talk to him in private, but he waves them away, they don't care like he does._

_There is a sympathy note taped to his locker, not a store-bought card or Hallmark message, but a girl's letter, written in silver ink, a rather poetic piece with the fact that it's okay to grieve and try to remember how she was as a person. Philby rips the letter, just like the rest of them, but doesn't throw the card away, instead slips the card remnants into the shoebox._

_0o0_

_The clock in his room is ticking so loud he can't sleep at night; it doesn't really matter, Philby isn't sleeping at all, he just sees her face whenever he closes his eyes, and the pain, the warm brown eyes, the beautiful skin, the blood dribbling between her fingers. _

_Finn's discovery seems to be screaming from the shoebox, more terrifying then any hidden monster could ever be._

_0o0_

_Philby is killing himself over what's hidden in the box, he has to open it up, has to read her real thoughts, how she really felt about everything. Curiosity drives him to open up the shoebox, shakily pull the small, leather-bound, navy blue journal marked with a creamy ribbon, a "W" emblazoned on the front in silver, modeled to look like the famous Disney font. _

_The journal seems to burn in his hands, so heavy that he'll drop it, lose the last remains of her forever, and when he opens up the cover, all the bitter pain seems to reach his heart, and he wonders if he's having a heart attack. Philby opens his eyes after squeezing them shut, finding a drawing of him staring back, draw in oil pastels, standing in front of the Cinderella Castle. She's next to him, holding his hands, as fireworks explode in a blurred rainbow behind them, so real, it's like a photograph._

_Her first entry is a moment he'll always remember:_

_Journal,_

_Today, for the first time in our lives, Philby and I skipped biology, and went to the park, where it was raining, but there was no one there, so we camped out underneath the oak tree. We climbed into the branches, safe from the rain, and we told each other stories about our families, our best and worst moments, our fears, our dreams, our goals, but never our real feelings. He held my hand when we climbed out of the tree, because I was terrified we would be caught, but when he had my hand, I thought I would explode into happiness._

_I came home soaked from the rain, but with a heart that was positively glowing from Philby's touch, a mind filled with information. More then anything, I wanted to say those three words, but my vocal cords knotted up before I could, and he'd smile. This is more then love; this is a desire, a physical need, like the sun needs the moon, the rain needs the clouds, the grass needs the soil._

_I almost wish we got caught sneaking out to spend time together, just so everyone else would stare at us, and say, "They are so happy together, they belong with each other, they're the lucky ones."_

_But, if I'm so happy, why am I crying?_

Philby doesn't sleep that night, but he keeps her journal underneath his pillow, like a kid does with a tooth, waiting for her memories instead of money. He knows the day by heart: the sky in black and white, the wide, flat leaves of the oak tree, how they went so in-depth with their discussion. No sleep, but plenty to think about.

0o0

Philby decides to be brave, and slips her journal into his backpack, carrying it to school with him. His backpack feels at least thirty pounds heavier, but carrying that extra weight made him feel better, stronger. He keeps it concealed all day, and waits until he can catch up with the other high school kids at the bus stop, waiting for Charlene to arrive with her gaggle of cheerleaders. When she sees him, there's something in her light blue eyes, like shock, suspicion, and embarrassment, rolled into one expression.

"I can't Philby," is all she says, as the girls wait for her, giggling, with one hand clutching the creamy ribbon on her journal, waiting for Charlene to say something else, to realize her mistake. Her best friend was gone, and she in total denial; even Philby could grasp it, but Charlene couldn't, she just stared coldly. "You might as well forget about her." Charlene jogs away, perfect, pretty Charlene, who has everything every girl wants, except for…

"You can't forget about Willa!" Philby yells so loudly, it reverberates against his own mind, echoing painfully, the journal clutched so tightly in his hand, he can see the stitches of the leather imprinted into the flesh of his palm. Everyone looks at him, even Charlene, who is halfway off of the bus, looking stuck, like she wants to go with him, explore the journal with him. 

"I can't," she finally repeats, brushing her blond hair out of her eyes, "I can forget, it's easy: don't fall asleep at night."

0o0

That night, Philby uses the light of the full moon to read her journal again, skipping a few journal entries that were only about how much she hated her math teacher, landing on a poem. He swallows, still afraid to touch the pages, simply scanning the poem, written neatly at the beginning, but getting sloppier towards the end, until it's illegible.

_Dear Mom,_

_You cared. At least for a while, during the days following dad's death, because you thought it was your fault that he had to die in the car, while we escaped with bruises. After the funeral, you focused more on Michael and Oliver and Virtue, and their futures, because you thought they could replace dad. I was just quiet little Willa, who sat in her room and read all day, because she had to be soft, shy, and sweet, all the time, and couldn't dream anymore._

_You didn't think that we were injured, only because dad was dead. I have a scar, a long one that runs all the way down my back, and almost looks like the letter "P" if you squint, which was dad's first initial, P for Peter. If you cared about my life, you would know "P" stands for the boy I love, and who makes everyday worth living. You wouldn't know._

_You want me home because someone has to make dinner when you have a hang-over, and you never taught Oliver or Michael to cook, so Virtue reads the recipe, while I made simple pot roast, or maybe a fancy salad. Virtue is the only one who cares, he's the only older brother in the world who can love their little sister, or replace a father._

_You are dead to me._

_Sincerely,_

_Broken Up_

"Philby, if you don't go to sleep, you're going to kill-I mean, hurt yourself," his mom lectured when he finds that he's still awake at ten-thirty, reading Willa's unfinished letters, and emotional journal entries, and poems that didn't rhyme about how she wanted to marry him. Philby is able to hide the journal under his pillow when she walks in, but if soon faced with another problem.

"Swallow them, Philby," she instructs, doling out a few sleeping pills into his palm, which he frowns at, about to say something sarcastic, when he thinks about how much Willa's mother _didn't _care, and forces a smile on his face. At least his own mother is concerned about his health, and cooks meals, and he slowly swallows the pills, washing them down with a glass of water.

Before falling asleep, Philby changes into a gray T-shirt and jeans, slipping the journal in his jeans pocket, the pills having a strange side-effect as the room blurred, and he hears Willa's voice, welcoming him back into the process of crossing over.

"Glad you could make it," Maybeck's DHI calls out, friendly, but not sarcastic enough to hurt Philby's feelings, as he pulls the journal out his pocket, sitting down on a park bench, looking up at Maybeck. He's not smiling, but he doesn't look like he's grieving anymore, just a sympathetic expression. "Me and Finn missed you, since Charlene doesn't seem to stay anymore, and…well, you know."

"Yes, I do know, because it's the reason I don't sleep at night," Philby suddenly yells, feeling like a fire is trying to rage through his chest, jumping to his feet abruptly, yet not letting go of the journal. "I know that I've cut every picture of her, because if I don't, I'll see her, and I'll want to kill myself over it. I know that Finn gave me her journal, and that her life isn't all storybooks and science projects, and her father is dead, and her mother is useless, and all but one of her brothers don't give a _damn. _I read the letters because I don't know, and now that I do, I would do anything to get her back!"

Yelling like that drains all of the adrenaline from his body, as Philby sinks back down to the bench, hugging the journal to his chest, breathing shakily, wishing that she would cross over, surprise them with the fact she wasn't dead, she was just…not pretending, but she was there. As Philby tried to gain control of his actions, Maybeck awkwardly sat next to him, wrapping his arm around his shoulder in a brotherly way.

"Man, I'm sorry about saying that, I wasn't sure if you were able to think about her yet," Maybeck said with the utmost sincerity, a rare thing to find in his tone. Philby wants to say something back, but his lips are glued shut, only focused on rocking, clutching the edges of the journal shut. "I-I thought she was a great girl, she always knew what to say, it's such a shame that…"

"Read," Philby finally utters, shoving the journal into Maybeck's hands, before running towards the end of the cobblestone street, only looking over his shoulder once to yell something else. "Bring it back tomorrow afternoon at the bus stop on the corner of Perdido and Springfield!"

Somewhere along the way, Philby finds the black remote, and sends himself back to bed, safe, away from the DHI world, where it all began, and where it all ended, and that he's standing in the spot where his world was destroyed.

0o0

The next morning, Philby sits through language arts, and all he thinks about is what happened two weeks ago, the moment that shattered his universe, and before he knows it, he's writing what happens on the back of his vocabulary test, because it's not like he can speak out loud.

_"Finn, Maleficent!" Philby had yelled at the top of his lungs, cupping his hands around his mouth, as Finn turned around, seeing the green-skinned villain standing at the mouth of a street, forming a ball of fire in her hands. Maybeck and Charlene were coming up behind them, while Willa ran beside him, the two trying to stay away from Maleficent._

_Finn looked terrified a moment, before directing them towards Space Mountain, where they would be safer, at an angle where Maleficent would have a harder target to hit. Philby had been herding Willa in that direction, before tripping over a loose stone in the street, falling right on his face, knowing he was done for. He leapt to his feet, seeing Willa running towards him in concern, silently regretting the fact she loved him so much._

_"Willa, go back!" The words never left his mouth, as the true ball of flame hurled towards him, knowing he would take the fire and die with it. Philby blinked, as the fireball progressed at the rate of a racecar, twisting his body so that the flame wouldn't hit him in the chest. Suddenly, there was a flash of blue and dark curls._

_The only girl he loved, the only thing that kept him sane in this mixed-up world, the glue that held the shards of his life in perfect place. Just something like a giddy grin, a flash of glitter in her chocolaty brown eyes, as Philby yelled something lost among his thoughts, echoing in the suddenly overwhelmed cavern of his mind. The glow in her irises remained, for a moment, a beautiful moment, with hope that she might make it._

_Then, dullness was her eyes, and Isabella DeAngelo, on the ninth of April, at eleven-twenty-five pm, passed on._

Philby realizes he's on the ground in class, and someone is next to him, checking his pulse, and that he's been chanting "Willa, go back" because they're the words that never came out, that could've saved him, but never did. His teacher kneels next to him, seeming to feel awkward about what to say, before taking a deep breath. "Do you need the nurse?"

Silence. His mind is frosting over like a glass window pane during a blizzard. "No ma'am, but can I call my mom to pick me up?"

0o0

He doesn't really need his mother to pick him up, Philby just has to get her journal back, has to preserve the memory for as long as possible, read through the things that he missed, scrutinize every sketch, piece of poetry, unfinished letters to him. Philby approaches the bus stop, Maybeck easy to spot among the other students with his gangly body and wild dreadlocks. For some reason, Maybeck looks like he's seen a ghost, handing Philby the journal absent-mindedly, like he's a robot programmed to do things. "I read it," he says slowly, "I read everything Willa had to say that she didn't."

Maybeck turns around without warning, marching stiffly to the bus, before turning around, seeming to be softer, almost like he might cry. "Man, I miss her. Cross over tonight, please."

When the bus drives away, Philby is left on the sidewalk, and he reads over the poetry, the entries, and finds that it's raining, just like that day in the park, and he wishes there was an oak tree nearby for him to crawl into. Willa would've raced him to the park, her dark hair flying out behind her, her latest novel tucked under her arm. He had never noticed how gray it was when it rained until she left.

0o0

When Philby crosses over, he still has the journal, and Maybeck and Finn are already there, sitting on a park bench, looking solemn. "Hey Philby," Finn calls out, inviting him to sit next to them, as he trudges towards them, Willa's journal weighing a million pounds. "We were just talking about the journal."

"I want to keep it," Philby whispers, more sullen and harsher then he expected, getting an understanding nod from Finn, who had apparently already read a majority of Willa's words. His eyes slide across the horizon, until they settle on a black-cloaked figure waiting at the end of the street, the same street. A deadly déjà vu reenters his mind, at the thought of running, warning Finn, yelling at Willa to stop, tripping, falling, fire, knowing it was the end. "Maleficent."

"Scatter!" Finn yells, as he takes off to the right, while Maybeck takes the left, leaving Philby in the middle of the street, holding onto Willa's journal, facing Maleficent. He's not afraid, he's simply numb, standing in the place he had stood two weeks ago, wishing Willa was beside him now. Eyes dull, face expressionless, knuckles turning white, Philby stares across the street at Maleficent, whose palms are out, like she's about to shoot.

Maleficent steps forward, as the world around them grows colder, goose bumps raising on the bare flesh of his arms. He wonders why he hasn't hit him yet, hasn't let him go with Willa, the same why, just another thing to connect them. Maleficent seems almost…afraid to hit him in this spot, and slowly lowers her palms, her icy expression melting ever so slightly. "Not here," she whispers, "not right here."

Philby knows that at that very moment, he was forgiven. He holds onto the journal as he runs away, the sole's of his sneakers pounding so hard against the road that it's what keeps his heart beating in time, pounding painfully in his chest, so fast, so fast, a blur, a sad little blur in the world that can barely be seen. Never, never, never, Willa's wings, angel wings, almost there…

Finn receives the morning paper the next morning, and throws the obituaries bitterly back onto the breakfast table, for his mother to pick up the article, her heart sinking when she recognizes one of the names; one of Finn's DHI friends, in the paper for something over then Disney.

_Fourteen year old Dell Philby-more commonly known as the famous DHI guide at Disney World-died of a heart attack in his sleep last night, only two weeks after other DHI, Isabella DeAngelo, died of natural causes. His parents believe the heart attack was stress after Miss DeAngelo's death, since the two were very close, and her death took a heavy toll on him._

_His parents also found that when they discovered his body, someone had written a sentence on the back of Miss DeAngelo's journal, which Dell had possession of. The statement read: "I'll meet you there, Willa."_

**Wow. Angst-centered, I know, but be honest, this took me two hours to write-literally, please tell me what you thought. I love Philby/Willa, and I was sad to kill them both, but it seemed to fit, especially when Maleficent couldn't kill him on the spot she murdered Willa. Leave a review, this took a lot of work, and I'd like to see what you guys thought.**


End file.
